


JWP 2020 #7: An Unfinished List

by methylviolet10b



Series: Transposition [6]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Lingering trauma, Prompt Fic, Triple Drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:34:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25140967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/methylviolet10b/pseuds/methylviolet10b
Summary: The man who made the list is dead. Written for JWP #7 over on Watson's Woes.
Series: Transposition [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/33828
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14
Collections: Watson's Woes JWP Collection: 2020





	JWP 2020 #7: An Unfinished List

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings** : Somewhat spoilerish for the events of [Tamerlane](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18485461), so I don't advise reading this if you haven't read that. References to unspecified trauma and its lingering mental effects, but nothing graphic. Can be read as gen or slash, as you please. And written in a complete rush. You have been warned.
> 
>  **Prompt** : TICKY BOXES FOR THE WIN!!!: Let your work today include a check box, tally mark, or other mark that records a preference.

“What is that?”

I cannot stop my flinch. I had not heard Watson, caught up as I was in the train of thought begun by the paper I held in my hand. It is a simple-looking list on the face of it, mostly dates and places, a few names. Some items have tiny marks next to them. Others remain undone – forever undone, for the man who made the list is dead.

Watson places a warm hand on my shoulder as he leans down to look. I see his lips tighten. He recognizes the handwriting as easily as I.

“His route into England?”

“And his planned route for return, complete with cargo.” My voice is calm, matter of fact. My mind is far less disciplined. Try as I might – and I struggle with all the willpower I possess – I cannot help but picture that route, what it would have been like to have been that cargo.

My delivery to the Baroness would have been moot. The worst would have already occurred.

As it is, the lesser horror I endured still haunts me, though I fight it as much as I can.

Watson knows what I am thinking. It is a strange reversal of our usual roles, where I am the one following his line of thought. His grip tightens on my shoulder, the firmness of his grip steadying me in ways that defy all logic. He is tangibly here, as I am here, and King is not.

I set down the paper with a sigh. I have learned all that I can from it. There is nothing more I can do this evening except try to bury the lingering horror of my brief captivity with a pipe and a brandy in our sitting room, with my dear Watson by my side.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted July 7, 2020.


End file.
